Paul's face 2

Paul turned the right side of his face
Into the dark and took the case
He carried in his cloak, and found
The linen napkin folded ’round
The little flask of oil, where none
Could see. The constant tears had run
Down to his chin and left their stain
Like ashen stripes on cracked terrain.
He wiped the stain, as he had done
Ten thousand times before, till none
Remained, then in the shadows held
The open flask of oil, that smelled
Like beaten olives crushed to make
A healing ointment for the sake
Of others crushed another way.
He paused, and then discreetly lay
His moistened fingers on the place
That never healed, then took the case,
And put it back, and said, “Let’s see,
Now, Timothy, can you help me?
Where were we when we stopped?”
“You said
Your father hoped to have, instead
Of you, another kind of son
That looked and sounded like the one
He always dreamed would make his school
A famous place. You said that ‘fool’
Is what he called you once, and that
Is why he named you Saul. You sat
And studied at the feet of old
Rabbi Gamaliel who told
You once that you could be the best
Rabbi in Israel and blessed
Above them all, if you would use
Your gifted mind and will, and choose
Your books to be your friends. He said
God gave you mental brawn instead
Of looks, and someday you would put
A stop to foolish claims afoot
In Israel that heaven’s king
Had come. You said, against the sting
Of shame outside, you built a wall
Around your Law and pride and all
Your books.”
Paul smiled, with his good side,
And said, “You listen well. I tried
To live inside that wall with books,
And never stopping by the brooks
To look down at my face, content
To be the best—in vain. I spent
More hours than Gamaliel
Would ever know under the spell
Of two angelic faces in
My youth.” Paul stopped and felt his chin
To see if he should wipe his face,
Then said, “It was a lonely place
Inside that wall.” He glanced across
Where Eunice sat enthralled. “The loss
Of love is like a hollowing
Inside the tree of life. You cling,
And then let go, and feel how great
The tree of love had grown. The weight
Of empty space is heavier
Than all the trunk and branches were
When she was there.”
Paul stared somewhere
Beyond the lantern light. The air
Was thick with eagerness. “Was there
A woman?” Eunice asked, with bare
And simple words. “I never thought
Of her that way. A woman ought
To be grown up. But we were not
Yet twenty-one. There were a lot
Of girls around Gamaliel’s school,
Because he had the finest pool
Of single Pharisees where they
Could fish. But there was one who, day
By day, would work her kitchen rounds
And then read Torah to the sounds
Of her own melodies. Most girls
Did not know how to read. Their curls
Meant more to them than Moses did.
But not Tashuka. Oft I hid
Behind a wall or bush to look,
Or listen, as she sang the book.
And after months of this, I put,
At last, a letter at the foot
Of one great terebinth where she
Would often sit. It said, ‘This tree
Above is like the Law to me,
Because within its shade I see
More beauty than in all the fields
Beyond. And there is none that yields
A sweeter fruit to bless so well
The garden of Gamaliel.
Please know, Tashuka, one there is
Who studies in these walls, and his
Desire is that someday, beyond
All dreams and hope, you might respond,
And, trembling in that very place
Alone, we might stand face to face.’

For three long months I put a note
There every day, and what I wrote
Was all my heart, in hope that she
Would love the Saul that she could see
In letters first, before she saw
My face. I hoped my zeal for Law
And God would be enough to win
Her love in spite of looks and skin.
And then one day I saw her lay
A note there by the tree and stay
For just a moment. Then she left.
I watched, as if I plotted theft,
And stole the letter silently,
And took it to my room, and there
Among my books and parchments, where
I lived so safe, and so esteemed,
And so alone, I sat and dreamed
What she might say. At last I cut
The seal and read, ‘Dear sir, you shut
Yourself away, unseen, unnamed,
Concealed, as if you were ashamed.
There is no need for that. All I
Can see are worthy reasons why
You should stand forth. I would suggest,
Dear sir, put me now to the test,
And in my customary place
Make your proposal face to face.’
And so with fear and trembling I
Prepared myself and prayed that my
Right eye one hour would be dry,
And my lips not so weak when I
Attempt to speak. I saw her come
At her appointed time. My numb
And reddened cheek was hot. She turned
As I appeared. My body burned
With fear and blazing hope. I said,
‘Tashuka, I am Saul. I read
Your letter. Thank you, that you came.’
But as she stared at me, the shame
Increased with every second till
She turned and left me standing still
With flowers in my shaking hand.
I’ve traveled through the Sacred Land
A hundred times, and never met
Her once since then.”
Sad tears had wet
The face of Eunice as she heard
The story of Paul’s loss. She stirred
The cup in front of her, unsure
What she should say. “I’m sorry. You’re
Worth more than that,” she said. Then Paul
Replied, “The mortar in the wall
Around my lonely soul was mixed,
I think, with too much notice fixed
On worth and not enough on grace.
I saw this in another face,
And everything I’d built began
To fall.” So Eunice asked, “And can
You tell us whose it was—this face
So powerful that we can trace
To it the fall of all your world?”
“About a year went by. Then swirled
A storm of controversy in
Jerusalem. There had not been
Such fury since the day we killed
The Lord. And finally it spilled
Beyond what anyone had seen
For years, and filled the court with mean
And raging men, including me,
Though I was but a youth. And we
Were driven to this rage by one
Whose humble face shown like the sun,
And said that Jesus was alive,
And that our Law, and how we strive,
And worship with our feasts,
And sacrifice our flawless beasts
Was coming to an end, and all
That we must do is trust, and call
Upon the mercy of the Lord.
I knew if this was true, a sword
Would pierce the city of my soul
And lay in ruins ev’ry goal
I had, and overthrow my birth,
My pride, and all my vaunted worth.
And so I gathered at my feet
The garments of the most elite
In righteousness as they stoned him
To death. And then, when ev’ry limb
Of Stephen’s body quivered in
The agony of death, the sin
Of all my righteousness appeared
For one brief moment. Killers cleared
Away, and I saw Stephen’s face,
The right side torn away, and grace
Filled all the rest. And with the lips
That he had left he said, ‘Though whips
And stones destroy this flesh, I know
That my redeemer lives. I go.
Behold the Son of Man has stood,
And counts this sinner Stephen good!
However great their sin amount,
Christ, lay it not to their account.’
The wall was breached, and though I raged
To keep myself with Law encaged,
The power of his shredded face
Would prove to be triumphant grace.”

There’s one more chapter, Timothy,
Of what God had to do to me
To free me from myself, and give
Me peace with who I am, to live
In freedom from the looking glass,
To let the stares of others pass,
And ponder not incessantly
That I am seen, but that I see.”

O candle two, ignite this truth
And burn it into every youth:
The love we need is not the kind
That comes to us and tries to find
Some worth or beauty that can keep
The lover true. No, we must sweep
All self-exalting loves away.
One kind of love alone will stay,
And it is not the kind that needs
Our worth or beauty or good deeds,
But intercedes for us and dies
When there is nothing here but lies.
The love that, as we kill, it cries,
“Lord, make these enemies your prize.”

Paul's face part.3

Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind
Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined
His head toward Timothy, and said,
“The best is yet to come. I dread
To make my friend sit through this tale
Again. I’ve led him down this trail
So many times, he must grow tired
Of hearing it.” “If I aspired
To novelty instead of truth
I might grow tired of it. But youth
And love of novelty are both
A distant memory. I’m loath
To nurse the craving I once had
For newness,” Silas said. “My dad
Once said, ‘Learn well the ancient songs,
My son. Someday a wave of wrongs
Will break across your life, and death
Will beckon you, and your last breath
Will serve you best with ancient hymns
Forged in the fire of shattered limbs
And broken hearts. These ancient songs
Will bear you through a thousand wrongs
And make you strong when others fail
At midnight in a Roman jail.’
So do not fret for me, my friend,
But tell your tale. In fact, the end
Is what I most would love to hear
Again. So finish it. Don’t fear
That you could bore your friend.”
Paul turned
To Timothy again, “I’ve yearned
For you to join us in this band
Of missionaries since God’s hand
Led us through Lystra months ago.
I know you think you are too slow
Of speech and even spastic in
Your hands, and doubt that God could win
A single soul to Christ through you.
But, Timothy, the Lord will do
More than you dream, if you will trust
Him with your mouth and mind, and thrust
Your trembling hand into the strong
And wounded grip of Christ. The long
And crooked path I took before
I could embrace my weakness or
My face, you could be spared. I pray
It will be so tonight. And may
My story’s end make you as glad
To join my band, as if you had
Omnipotence sustaining you,
Because, in truth, my friend, you do.”

Then Timothy replied, “I would,
Paul, thank you deeply if you should
Oblige my wavering heart with this
Last chapter of your tale. The kiss
Farewell that you are asking me
To give my haven here would be
The hardest thing that I have done.
Tell me, how was the battle won
That you should bow, and then embrace
For Christ your weakness and your face?”

“With lethal letters in my hand
From Caiaphas the priest, I planned
My journey to Damascus where
The Way had spread, and thought that there
Gamaliel’s old prophecy
Would finally come true for me:
‘Someday you’ll stop the mouths of strange
And foolish men who dare to change
The law, and even claim the king
Of Israel has come. The sting
Such messianic fools will feel
From your intimidating zeal
Will crush their cause and you will see
Why God brought you to live with me.’
With rage and murder in my heart
Against God’s grace and ev’ry part
Of Stephen’s claim, I set my face
Against the fools who say that grace
Had made a pile of rubbish out
Of all my deeds. I took the route
Up to Damascus, there to break
The back of Jesus’ Way, and make
A great display of my own zeal.
As we approached the town, the seal
Of heaven broke. And suddenly
A blazing light, more bright than we
Had ever seen or dreamed could be,
Shone like a hundred suns on me
And struck me to the ground with so
Much force I did not even know
That I had fallen, when it seemed
As if a thousand rivers streamed
Together at the cataracts
Above my head and fell with facts
As heavy as an ocean filled
With truth. A voice from heaven spilled
It’s thund’ring falls into the sea:
‘Why are you persecuting me?’
I cried, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ And what
I heard him say forever shut
My mouth against the Way. He said,
‘My name is Jesus. I was dead,
And am alive for evermore.
These fools you aim to kill mean more
To me than all the galaxies.
You cannot win or silence these.
The way you wield your priestly sword
You strike against the risen Lord.
Go to the city now and you,
My slave, will hear what you must do.’

For three long days I could not see,
Nor did I eat or drink. One plea
Was on my lips: ‘O God, let there
Be mercy on my head and spare
Me all the wrath that I have earned
Because I killed your sheep and spurned
The Shepherd of your flock, and tread
With scorn upon your grace. I dread,
O God, what I deserve. My face
Is covered, now, with shame. My place
Is with the worst of sinners in
The lake of fire, where all my sin
Will make you just, while I repay
My debt with an eternal stay.
O God, O Christ whom I have killed,
O Lamb of God whose blood I spilled,
All covered now with vile disgrace,
O Lord, have mercy on my face.’

And as I prayed, a man appeared
Sent from the Lord. At first he feared
To come, but when he learned what Christ
Had planned for me, he sacrificed
His fear and came. He said, ‘Receive
Your sight, my brother, Saul, and leave
The blindness of your soul behind
And come, the light of Truth has shined
On you. Your sins are covered by
The blood of Christ. And when you die
Each day, and then at last, it will
Not be a punishment, but fill
What’s lacking in the Savior’s pain:
The readiness to make it plain
By suffering yourself. God chose
You from the womb to bear the blows
That bring the blood of Jesus to
The world, and made your face the true
Divide between the lovers of
The Gospel grace and those who love
The praise of man. To these you are
A stumbling block, to those a star
To guide them safely home to God.
The comeliness of your façade
Means little if they’ve gone astray.
What counts is that you know the Way.
Henceforth the Lord lifts up your face
Your pain is now the path of grace.’”

Paul looked at Timothy to see
If he had understood. “To be
A member of your team would cost
A man his life.” He paused. “You’ve lost
A lot to follow Christ.” But Paul
Replied, “If I could lose it all,
It would be gain. There’s one last part
You haven’t heard. It might impart
The final piece and help you see
How loss is gain. Recall that we
Began this tale in Tarsus where
My father had his school. And there
He named me Saul, and grieved that I
Was unfit for his dreams. “Good-bye,”
Was all he said, and sent me to
Jerusalem. I never knew
Him all my life. But then one day
The saints in Caesarea lay
A plan for me to flee and move
To Tarsus till the plots should prove
Ephemeral. And there I found
The synagogue. “May I expound
The Law and prophets here,” I asked.
The ruler said, “If you were masked.
What claim have you to teach the Law
Of God?” “I think you hold in awe
My teacher in Jerusalem,
Gamaliel.” “You touched the hem
Of great Gamaliel? You sat
At his beloved feet?” “And that
From when I was a child of three
Till I became a Pharisee.”
“We will be glad to hear you speak,
And we will overlook your weak
Appearance.” “There’s one question, sir.
Would I be right, or would I err,
If I assume the master of
The school will come?” “For love
Of fame—a Pharisee, from old
Gamaliel—he’ll come. His gold
Is everything that shines. It’s good
The master’s almost blind. He should
Give you a hearing.” “One more thing,
Sir, as you go, could you please bring
To my attention when he takes
His seat this Sabbath day?” “He shakes.
His hands. His head. You’ll know him when
He comes.”
I watched for him. And then
He came, and took the foremost seat,
And sat directly at my feet.
I preached the gospel unashamed.
They listened calmly, till I named
The great Messiah, Jesus, Lord
Of heav’n and earth, who died and poured
His blood out on a Roman stake,
And came back from the dead to take
His seat at God’s right hand. Before
They left in rage, I spoke one more
Brief word: ‘God sent his son,’ I cried,
From glory down to shame. He died
That every dad who did the same
Might be forgiven, and the blame
Be carried by the Christ defiled,
And sons and fathers reconciled!’

They all stormed out, except for one.
And there, the father and the son,
Alone, with Christ, stood face to face
Beneath the cataracts of grace.

“Do you see Timothy? The years
The pain, the loneliness, the jeers
From children all my life—all this,
My friend, to bring my father bliss
Forever with his son before
The risen King whom I adore?
I ask again, dear Timothy,
Will you now come and die with me?”

Bright candle three, the answer waits,
While ev’ry person contemplates
And ponders in the quiet light
Of your small flame how true and right
Are all the promises of Christ
And how for these he sacrificed.
Do I believe with all my heart
The canvass of my life is art?
That ev’ry crimson thread is laced
Through dark or silver fibers placed
So perfectly it will be plain
That none was woven there in vain?
Do I believe my faulty face
Will prove to be a work of grace?
And will I banish fear and shame
And lift my head to speak the Name?
I now by ev’ry promise I possess,
With Timothy, do answer, yes.

© Desiring God

For Thalida at her Baptism

The Lord himself once stood
With John the Baptist in the river, just
The way you stand with me
Tonight, the Son of Man with perfect trust,

Fulfilling everything
Required of us, as if a spotless Lamb
Should there repent, as if,
Immersed and hushed, the great I AM

Could choose to sink in death
And bury there alone in the abyss
Our sin, a parable
Of love and hope and suffering—and this.

And now you stand with me
Tonight in these strange waters, full of death,
And put your hand in mine
To lay you down, as if in sleep, one breath

Away from heaven’s gate,
As I have done three thousand times, since you
Were eight weeks old. But now
To signify not sleep but death, and through

This happy grave, to rise
Not this time into one more fading day,
But everlasting life.
And so tonight, dear Talitha, I pray:

God grant that you would live
Forever in the faith that makes you one
With Jesus Christ, and takes
You into death with him, and life, where none

Can pluck you from his hand
Or undo what the risen Lord has done.
And when the time should come
That I, though he has called me precious son,

Must once more be immersed
In death, fear not, this is no final threat
To me or you, but take
My hand in hope, as you do now, and let

Me draw my final breath,
And enter heaven’s gate assured of this:
That you will follow me
Someday and greet me with a holy kiss.

The tea cup

A couple vacationing in Europe went strolling down a little street and saw a quaint little gift shop with a beautiful teacup in the window. The lady collected teacups and she wanted this one for her collection, so she went inside to buy the teacup, and as the story goes the teacup spoke and said:

"I want you to know that I have not always looked like this. It took the process of pain to bring me to this point. You see, there was a time when I was just clay and the Master came and he pounded me and he squeezed me and he kneaded me and I screamed: "STOP THAT!". But he just smiled and said, "Not yet".

Then he took me and put me on the shelf and I went round and round and round and round... and while I was spinning and getting dizzier and dizzier I screamed again and I said, "Please get me off this thing... please get me off!!!" And the Master was looking at me and he was smiling, as he said, "Not yet".

Then he took me and walked toward the oven and shut the door and turned up the heat and I could see him through the window of the oven and it was getting hotter and hotter and I thought, "He's going to burn me to death!".

And I started pounding on the inside of the oven and I said, "Master, let me out, let me out, let me out!", and I could see that he was smiling as he said "Not yet". Then he opened the door and I was fresh and free and he took me out of the oven and he put me on the table and then he got some paint and a paintbrush.

He started dabbing me and making swirls all over me and I started to gag and I said: "Master, stop it... stop it... stop it please... you're making me gag". He just smiled as he said "not yet".

Then very gently he picked me up again and he started walking toward the oven and I said, "Master, NO!! Not again, pleeeease!!". He opened the oven door and he slipped me inside and he shut the door and this time he turned the heat up twice as hot as before and I thought, "He's going to kill me!!", and I looked through the window of the oven and I started to pound on it, saying, "Master... Master, please let me out... please let me out... let me out!".

I could see that he was smiling but I also noticed a tear trickle down his cheek as I watched him mouth the words, "Not yet!"

Just as I thought I was about to die, the door opened and he reached in ever so gently and took me out, fresh and free and he went and placed me on a high shelf and he said: "There, I have created what I intended. Would you like to see yourself?" I said, "Yes". He handed me a mirror and I looked and I looked again and I said, "That's not me, I'm just a lump of clay".

He said, "Yes, that IS you, but it took the process of pain to bring you to this place. You see, had I not worked you when you were clay, then you would have dried up.

If I had not subjected you to the stress of the wheel you would have crumbled. If I had not put you into the heat of the oven you would have cracked. If I had not painted you there would be no color in your life. But, it was the second oven that gave you the strength to endure. Now you are everything I intended you to be - from the beginning." And I, the teacup, heard myself saying something I never thought I would hear myself saying, "Master, forgive me, I did not trust you. I thought you were going to harm me, I did not know you had a glorious future and a hope for me. I was too shortsighted, but I want to thank you.

I want to thank you for the suffering. I want to thank you for the process of pain. Here I am! I give you myself - fill me; pour from me, use me as you see fit. I really want to be a vessel that brings you glory within my life."

God alone is Wise

God alone is full of wisdom,
God alone knows every end,
God alone plans every pathway,
More than we can comprehend.
Infinite! His wisdom soars,
High above our peace and wars,
Grasping all the mysteries,
Governing the galaxies.
Infinite! Our God is wise!
Let our boast in him arise!

Wise! He saves the lowly sinner.
Wise! He keeps his covenant.
Wise! His ways at Calvary
Silence ev’ry argument.
By his blood and righteousness
Jew and gentile he will bless.
None shall boast in any man,
All shall marvel at his plan.
Infinite! Our God is wise!
Let our boast in him arise.

The Son

There was once a father and son. They were both painters. They lived in Europe. One day that so had to go to the Army, the father was very distressed about his son's leaving. He felt very lonelly at times. One day, a soldier came to the door and told to the father that his son died in the war. This soldier had a picture with him and he said this to the father: I have with me a picture of your son that I drew of him beofre he died... I am not so good at drawing. One day while we were on the frontlines fighting, a soldier from the other camp, from the enemy’s side came to me, and he was about to shoot me, when your son jumped in front of the bullet and he took it and died instead of me. I respected and loved your son a lot. He was more than a brother to me. We were very close to each other during the war time. He gave me your address to come to see you and tell you how much he loved you.

The father wept and cried for days on, over his son’s death. He took the picture of his son, that the younger soldier has drew and put it in the middle of the room, and whenever he missed his son he looked at it. Towards the end of his life, he wrote a testament and gave it to his lawyer. One day the famous painter died, and his lawyer, organized an auction. At that auction, many, many famous and reach people came.

Everybody was excited about this auction, and they thought that when they will go home they will be very rich. The auction started with the first painting, and it was the sketch that the soldier made of the sun. The auction started with the selling of this sketch starting from five dollars. The rich people were not happy with this painting and wanted to get over with it and move to the real stuff. And they started shouting:
- Get this ugly painting away from here!

Then the lawyer, asked:
-Is there no one that wants to buy this painting, not even for just five dollars? And then suddenly, inside the room came the soldier and said:
-Sir I will buy this painting, I knew the sun! Sir, I don’t have a lot of money, I am pour I only have five dollars. This is all I have, but please give me that painting. I love it. I love the sun, he died for me!!!

Then the lawyer said:
- Going once, going twice the painting is sold! Its going to the young soldier,.... then he added: -The auction is officially over now.
Everybody was surprised and they all started mumbling and grumbling about this, saying it is impossible.
-How can the auction be over? We just got here! Isn’t there more? Where is the rest, where are all the other paintings that we came here for?
The lawyer looked at them and said:
- The father said in his testament that whoever buys the son’s painting will take all of it and all the other paintings. Whoever takes the son inherits it all.So with this all the rich man, left with nothing.

So it is with God, when he says: Whoever will it take and believe in his son shall inherit the Kingdome of Heaven. Whoever does not believe in his son shall perish and wil be thrown out in the lake of fire for ever.

You are my everything

So many times I try to think of You
So many times I try to reach You
But so many things try to pull me down
This world it's fighting too hard to keep me calm
You try to pull me up and they drag me down
I can’t fight this Lord...all on my own.
You have to come and rescue me from this realm.

I fought so hard so long with the world
I fought wars and battles with my self
And when I finally realised my power's are out
Than it all came clear to me
That you have promised a way out
Than I gasped and said to Thee
Lord I'm done; the devils have warned me out
You're will in my life be done.

You're strength was there all along
Just for me to see and stretch my hand
To grab your hand and have it all for free
But ohhh ..no...I had to do it all my self
I though I was strong enough to carry everywhere
My mountain of burdens, instead of giving it all to Thee.

Now I know and am ready to give it all up
For a higher purpose to live is what I need
I know I’m not worthy of You're call
On my knees in repentance now I plead
To have mercy, look how inside now I bleed
Make my ego die down so you can exalt me
And so in this I could find peace with Thee
I haven’t been a good child I do agree
In front of your mighty throne I shall crawl
Take my pour heart again and mend it all up.
And keep me close to your bosom so can never fall.


You are the Father to me that I never had
You took my earthly parent to give me one in heaven,
You were a friend to me when mine’s have abandoned me.
You are everything to me, but mostly You’re the One,
For many have promised to give me the moon for an expensive fee
You never asked for anything but you gave all you had
You took me by the hand and showed me heaven,
Whispered in my ear that this is my home forever.